The real question is...

Well--there are a lot of real questions.  Plural, not singular.

Earl from Denver poses the real question as being:

... What the hell's wrong with your blogging?

Man, if I knew the answer to that, I'd be golden.   Quality aside, regarding the dearth of posts, I will only say that I've been either moving or fixing my car this week--neither a particularly pleasant endeavor--and have been negligent.  I apologize to all concerned and promise that next week will be literally full of shit...blogwise.

What else is new?

I'll ignore the Greek Chorus for now to share some additional reader mail.  Gerald from Dallas writes:

 

"... Debbie wants a portrait of the girls but is balking at the price.  You may have to come down and turn on the charm."  

This raises a couple of questions:  a) If she's balking at the price ($7,500, plus an additional fee for a second head), what's she going to say about paying for me to fly first class--NY/Dallas?  And b) Do I even have any charm to turn on anymore?  I believe I exist in what one might call a charmed state.  Constantly charming, if you will.  No more nor less is possible.  Wysiwyg, if you will.  And c)  Does the phrase "come down" even refer to traveling to Dallas?  Might it not instead mean "come down on your price"?  Or, taking a more macro perspective, does it mean that I have to both reduce my price and turn on the charm (which we already have determined I cannot do)?  These, gentle readers, are real questions.  And d) I think, should the proposed gig become a reality (the smart money is shaking its head so hard its eyeballs are beginning to rattle), I would be inclined to paint twinned paintings rather than one.  

Envision the following:  My portrait of the portrait of Gertrude Stein.  A painting that measures twoandahalf feet by two, rendered in the obscured box technique.  Now imagine a painting of one kid (I use the word "kid" here for web security purposes--I know her name), looking off into the distance in one direction paired with a painting of the other kid (ibid--if that's even right) looking off into the distance in another, or perhaps looking down at her hands (although you wouldn't be able to see the hands, I don't think).  

This serves one massively important purpose:  If you have to paint two people, experience suggests that one is going to work out better than the other (see Maria Bartiromo/Erin Burnett).  And the act of fixing, and refixing the second, if it populates the same canvas as the first, is bound to compromise the first as well as the second.  Better to paint both of them (by "them" I mean the paintings, not the kids) at the same time, side by side, obscured box after obscured box, and then, at the end, moving each toward what one might call the center--that being, in this case, that thing that makes them seem twinned.  

Or paired, since the kids aren't twins.